


it's all up in the stars

by defcontwo



Series: hold on to what we are, hold on to your heart [4]
Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-17
Updated: 2013-06-17
Packaged: 2017-12-15 06:50:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/846571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/defcontwo/pseuds/defcontwo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You know, I forgot what a drama queen you are, Jason.” outtakes from the 'verse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> there are lots of little scenes that I've pictured in this 'verse that don't really fit into a coherent story, so. outtakes!

“Shoot me.”

“I think you’re being a little over-dramatic here.”

“No, really. Shoot me in the fucking face, stab me with a batarang, burn my body, and scatter my ashes in all directions so I don’t have to come back for a second time and relive this god awful moment.”

Batman - _Dick_ , shifts slightly from where they’re sitting on the edge of a rooftop and smiles a little, a smile that appears incongruous and downright unsettling from inside of the cowl. 

“You know, some people would take this as an opportunity for bonding.”

“What people? What kind of fucked up people do you know, Dickie-Bird? Because from where I’m sitting, news at 11, finding out that Big Bro and I fucked the same dude is not a bonding experience, it’s fodder for an episode of Maury.” 

“You know, I forgot what a drama queen you are, Jason.” 

“I am _not_ \-- “ Jason starts and then stops because yeah, okay, he really kind of is. “Jackass,” he mutters, to himself more than anything else. 

“I was pretty pissed off when I found out, you know,” Dick says. “I thought that it was. I don’t know, revenge or something, that you were trying to hit me where it hurt. But I guess you really had no idea, did you?” 

“Yeah, because I know all about your love life, Dickface. We had _so_ many heart to hearts, waxing each other’s legs and gossiping about all the hottest vigilantes back in the day,” Jason says, sarcasm heavy but not quite heavy enough to cover up the bitterness underneath. 

“No, I guess we didn’t,” Dick says, voice soft and there’s something there, something like regret and guilt and Jason stiffens -- he thinks about punching the guilt out of Dick because Jason doesn’t want it, the Golden Boy can take his pity and his guilt and shove it up his ass. Jason has no use for it. 

“Yeah, well, how about we skip the Hallmark moment and instead you make yourself useful by giving me an alphabetized list of all your ex’s so I know who to avoid in the future,” Jason says, heaving himself up from the edge and pulling out a grapple. 

Dick doesn’t respond and Jason doesn’t have anything more to say to him, wants to get away from Dick’s sudden air of seriousness as soon as possible because it’s itching at him, making him want to open his mouth and say things that Dick doesn’t deserve to hear, so he aims at the nearest building and takes off. 

If three days later, he wakes up to find a four page list shoved under his front door of color coded names with the title “Jason Peter Todd’s Dick Embargo,” written messily at the top in glittery pen, then - well. Dick’s an asshole, so it’s not like that’s much of a surprise.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Do I have -- who the fuck do you think you’re talking to, rich boy? No, I don’t have soy milk."

“Are you and Steph sleeping together?” 

“Well, hello to you too, _Timothy_ , why don’t you come in and make yourself at home,” Jason says, swinging open the door to his apartment and heading back into the kitchen. Drake will find a way in no matter what, so he might as well make this easy for himself. 

Drake closes the door shut behind him with a click and stands awkwardly in the space between the foyer and the kitchen. He looks every bit the Wayne heir in a button down with slacks and a sweater that must have cost more than Jason’s monthly rent. But Jason wonders if the people Drake works with, the idiots of Gotham’s business district see what’s underneath. Drake looks older since the last time Jason saw him. Not just that he’s a little bit taller, although there is that -- he looks like he’s been through a war that’s he’s not quite sure that he’s made it all the way back from. 

It’s not an entirely bad look. There’s something attractive about it in a fucked up kind of way -- that defined sort of sharpness. Jason wonders what that says about him, that he thinks that. 

Probably nothing good but it’s not like that’s news. 

“Want coffee?” Jason offers, flipping the switch on his coffeemaker and reaching for a few mugs. 

“Depends. Will it be laced with cyanide?” 

“Nah, I was gonna go with arsenic. I’m an old fashioned kind of guy,” Jason says. 

Drake snorts. How inelegant, Jason thinks, whatever would the society pages think of the Wayne heir now. 

“So he _does_ have a sense of humor.” 

“Like a broken clock, even _you_ can manage to be funny every once in awhile,” Drake says, and he’s going for disdainful but the jig is up. Jason knows that Drake doesn’t mind him quite as much as he’d like to pretend. He wouldn’t have sprung Jason from prison otherwise. 

“How do you take your coffee?” 

“Uh, do you have soy milk?” 

“Do I have -- who the fuck do you think you’re talking to, rich boy? No, I don’t have soy milk. Skim’s what’s on offer, take it or leave it.” 

Drake clenches his jaw a little, like he’s thinking of saying something but knows he shouldn’t. “Skim is fine,” he says at last. 

Jason sets both coffees down on the kitchen table and plops himself down in one of the seats, challenging Drake with raised eyebrows. “You just gonna stand there or what?” 

Drake rolls his eyes but pulls out one of the chairs and sits down, reaching out to pull his coffee closer to him. 

“We’re not, by the way,” Jason says offhandedly. 

“What?” Drake says. 

Jason sighs heavily in a way that is mostly put-upon. “Steph and me, we’re not sleeping together.” 

“Ahh,” Drake says, as if that somehow clears up some great mystery he’s been puzzling through. “Do you want to be?” 

Jason takes a long gulp of his coffee and makes as if he’s giving the question a great deal of thought. He scalds his tongue on the still too-hot coffee but it’s worth it to see the way Drake squirms. 

“No. Not even a little bit. Not that it’s any of your business who Steph does and does not sleep with, you do know that, right?” 

“Yeah, I know -- I mean, I just meant,” Drake sighs, loud and annoyed. “I wanted to make sure that she’s okay. That she’s happy.” 

“And you couldn’t have asked her that yourself?” 

“Everytime I try to talk to her, it, uh. It doesn’t go well.”

“Sure, because this conversation is going swimmingly.” 

Drake runs his hands through his long hair distractedly. “Yeah, I suck at this.” 

“‘Course you do. Look at who your role model for adult human relationships is. It’s a miracle you can form full sentences that aren’t just grunts about justice and discipline.” 

“He’s not that bad,” Drake says defensively but Jason just raises an eyebrow. 

“Okay, so he is that bad.” 

“Question time from me, Boy Blunder. Do _you_ want to be with Stephanie, is that what all this is about?” 

“What, would you help me if I said yes? Be my wingman?” Drake asks, disbelievingly. 

“No, because you’re kind of a massive asshole,” Jason says, and holds up a finger as Drake opens his mouth to protest. “Yes, I know that I’m _also_ a massive asshole. Don’t forget, it takes one to know one, Drake.” 

“Well, I don’t,” Drake says. “I don’t want to get back together with Steph. But I do - I don’t want to burn that bridge so completely that we can’t even be in each other’s lives anymore. I want us to be, I don’t know. Friends or something. And you’re her friend so I thought talking to you was an idea that held some merit, which was clearly incredibly stupid so we can just forget this ever happened, alright?” 

“Nope, too late, dear Timothy,” Jason says. “Red X never forgets, ask anyone.” 

Drake makes a scrunched up face at him that might be going for annoyed but just lands somewhere around hilarious. 

“Just talk to her, you dipshit. Take her out for waffles at that place on 9th, be honest, and try not to let your Bruce out too much, Jesus Christ. And I thought I was the human disaster in this family.” 

“That’s...surprisingly good advice, Jason,” Drake says. 

“Yeah, well. Like you said, broken clock and all that.” 

“Why are you being so, I don’t know. Nice to me.” Drake looks genuinely curious, like he can’t figure it out. He’s tense, Jason notices -- he’s been tense since he arrived, tense like he’s waiting for the other shoe to drop and the punches to start flying. 

Well, it’s not like Jason can blame him for that. There’s precedent. 

Jason shrugs half-heartedly. “I guess I figure I owe you. For the prison and all. I owe you the gift of civility, at the very least. Don’t get used to it, though, I may shove you off a roof the next time I see you.”

Drake rolls his eyes again. “Whatever, Jason.” 

“Just drink your coffee and get the fuck out of my kitchen, Drake.” 

Drake makes a show of drinking his coffee as slowly as possible, so Jason kicks at the leg of his chair. 

How he always ends up in these sorts of situations, Jason will never understand.


End file.
